


Du(c)al Heart

by Yttergrund



Category: Young Avengers (Comics)
Genre: Ableism, Ableist Language, Abusive Parents, Alternate Universe - 1920s, Childhood Trauma, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Past Child Abuse, Physical Abuse, Physical Disability, Suicidal Thoughts, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:40:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27005965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yttergrund/pseuds/Yttergrund
Summary: The Great War is four years in the past and everything is changing and transforming: the world is shifting and moving like never before. Cars, music, parties… everything is getting bigger, faster, and louder. It’s a bright and young, a new world out there, there for the people to venture into and make their own after the horrors of the recent past.Well… it is there for you if you can get out there and away from the horrors of your present life.For William Kaplan - fourth and youngest son of an English Baronet - life after the war goes on as it always has, his days filled with fear and pain as William leads his miserable and isolated life under the roof of his monstrous father.At barely past twenty he is a man who has experienced more, but also less, than most ever will: a man who is scarcely more than a prisoner. William is desperate to get away from his hellish home by any means necessary, but when his daring attempt to get himself the means to facilitate his escape backfires, a chance meeting with a stranger changes the course of his entire life.
Relationships: Teddy Altman/Billy Kaplan
Comments: 28
Kudos: 87





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Well… I did it again. I started a new story even though I have other stories languishing in a woefully unfinished state, but you know, when the inspiration hits and the iron is hot…
> 
> So, I have no idea where this piece of self-indulgent writing will go, but this story will contain: big hunky aristocrats, poor Billy being hurt (not too much… well, probably a bit more than that), afternoon teas, country houses, TWEED! and everything else period dramas usually include.
> 
> Vintage queer boys kissing is of course included, but that undoubtedly goes without saying.
> 
> I blame Downton Abbey for all of this, and damn you Julian Fellowes for your utterly unrealistic/idealised but ridiculously wonderful depiction of life in an English country house in the early years of the previous century.
> 
> This chapter might remind those who have read ‘My King, My Love’ of its first chapter, and that is not entirely by coincidence. When I began to write MKML I for a moment thought about the setting being something more modern, but I forewent that idea and had Teddy as a literal knight in shining armour instead him being one in a more metaphorical sense. However, the idea of a different setting persisted in the back of my head, and now this story is the result.
> 
> I hope someone will find this worth their while, so… enjoy!

///\\\\\

**6 th June 1922**

**Bagley Hall, Suffolk**

Billy peered through a gap in the curtains of his window and quietly stared at the people below, his father’s guests milling about the stone patio and their faint voices carrying up to Billy’s first floor window. He gazed down at the finely dressed people below motionlessly as not to draw attention to himself, and when he recognised the silhouette of one his older brothers he carefully withdrew. His father’s order to him to not show himself was absolute, not even a brief glance was to be seen of Billy. He sighed quietly, carefully pulling the curtains shut as not to jostle their fabric and puttered away from the window.

William Kaplan - the youngest of Sir Edmund Kaplan’s four sons - was rarely seen outside his room, even less frequently outside Bagley Hall, and it was practically unheard that he left the estate of his father. In fact, for many it came as a surprise to find out that Sir Edmund indeed had a fourth son, but usually the acute curiosity on why the boy was not seen much was eased by the account that invariably followed the mention of the youngest Kaplan: ‘ _cripple, feeble and sickly, left arm mangled at birth making it nearly useless, killed his mother in the process_ ’ and so forth were the customary explanations tossed around when his name was mentioned.

Usually after that it was understood by most why the fourth son of Sir Edmund was absent from, well, everything. Most well-off, old families had batty uncles and aunts, and ‘ _simple’_ relations tucked up in the attics of family seats or kept under lock and key in appropriate institutions, so hiding away a handicapped boy when one had three other healthy, strapping ones was perfectly understandable; keeping the family shield spotless and dregs of the family lineage out sight, and so forth.

Billy glanced at the clock on the mantlepiece, swallowing nervously, and he felt sweat prickling under the collar of his shirt as the time to implement his plan had come. The more obvious sign of agitation and nervousness was also making its appearance; his left arm shook and tremored and Billy grabbed his left wrist into his right hand.

It didn’t work, it had never worked as a way to ease the trembling in his near-useless left arm, but he did it anyway. It really was just a feeble attempt to have some semblance of control in his life where he had none; like a small boy desperately clinging to his teddy bear for comfort. Billy huffed quietly at the thought; even now at 22 he wished for a stuffed bear for company instead of his crippled arm. But his toys had been taken away from him the moment he had turned ten, so hugging pillows and his own knees for comfort had been the next best thing ever since.

Billy took a few, calming breaths and then moved to the door of his room, carefully putting his hand on the knob. The door was not locked, but it might as well have been, so ingrained it was in him to not leave his room; the beatings by his father and brothers had made sure of it. He motionlessly listened for a moment for any sound in the corridor, and when he was sure that there was no one there he slowly cracked the door ajar, took one last glance through the gap to be sure, and then slipped out. The first floor of the Hall was blessedly empty, the staff busy to handle the on goings of the party behind the scenes and Billy’s brothers and father mingling with the guests in the drawing room and on the patio.

Billy quietly made his way down the upstairs corridors, silently grateful for the thick carpeting muffling his steps, and passing in a slight crouch the balustrade that separated the main upstairs corridor from the two-story atrium. He made his way to the door that led to the servants’ stairwell and when he carefully pushed the door open, luck was on his side again; the landing was empty and quiet, the only noise carrying up the stairs from the kitchen in the cellar.

Billy stopped for a tick and listened for any sound of movement or footsteps, and once he was sure that no one was coming up the stairs he quickly made his way down the stairwell to the first floor landing, stopping behind the servants’ door that led to the cloak room next to the atrium.

By now Billy’s left arm was quaking like a leaf and he steeled his nerves, once more desperately hoping that his luck would last, and the cloak room would be empty. For the problem was, that the door was thick as to prevent any sounds from the servants’ quarters reaching the formal and family rooms of the Hall, and therefore Billy had no idea if someone was waiting in the cloak room.

Finally, Billy gathered his quickly dwindling courage and he entered the smallish room and thank god the dimly lit room was empty. The air there was stuffy and still, numerous clothes in racks and storage boxes on high shelves making the sounds muted and soft. Billy cautiously ambled towards the other end of the dark room, past his family’s clothes and to where the overclothes of the guests were kept, ready to be handed to their owners by one of the footmen once the party was over in an hour or two. Billy quickly scanned the rack where there were several expensive looking men’s overcoats and he picked one out at random, reaching towards the black coat hesitantly.

Now his right hand was trembling as well, though not from nerve damage like his left one, but from sheer anxiousness and nervousness. Still, Billy reached into the breast pocket of the black overcoat and as luck would have it; his trembling fingers met smooth leather. Billy carefully fished out a thick wallet from the pocket and, gingerly opening it.

The leather wallet was stuffed full of large, white £5 notes, and there were so many of them in there that Billy drew a surprised breath, he had never thought that someone would dare to carry such a fortune on their person. He stared at the notes for a tick and finally, after struggling with himself, he plucked out one and carefully put the wallet back into the coat’s pocket, shame and guilt already clawing his insides to shreds.

Billy swallowed thickly and took a couple of unsure, halting steps towards the servants’ door, but he stopped before reaching it, his insides feeling as if they had suddenly putrefied. He glanced down at his fisted hand where the white note was crumbled by his clutching fingers that were almost as pale as the piece of paper.

Billy sighed tremulously and turned on his heels, walking back to the overcoat he again plucked out the wallet, smoothed the worst of the rumples on the note and then tucked it back into the wallet with its numerous companions. Hopefully the snug wallet would smooth out the worst of the rumples and the owner would think nothing of the extra creases on one of his bills.

Billy hung his head low, biting into his lip in shame.

“I’m not a thief.” Billy took another tremulous breath and whispered to himself, to the silence.

To Billy’s horror the silence answered back.

“Indeed not, and it’s very decent of you to return my money.” Deep, a bit raspy voice said behind him, sending goosepimples over Billy’s skin.

Never had Billy heard the voice, or a voice like it, and he whipped around.

“Though it must be said, it is a bit unusual for a pickpocket to get second thoughts.” The rumbly, unmistakably male voice continued.

Billy swallowed hard, the husky voice’s effortless authority making him back up and grope behind him for support, his fingers however just grasping thin air and knees nearly buckling from sheer terror when his eyes landed on a man in full evening dress.

The shadowed figure was leaning against the wall in a little alcove which Billy had forgotten existed, and even in the dim light of the solitary lightbulb Billy could see that he was a tall and strapping man with broad shoulders. The man’s dress coat only highlighted his wide shoulders in an almost possessive kind of way, and his black trousers gave the impression he had legs for miles, their black cloth draped over thighs that could have easily been thick trunks of a mature tree.

The man took a step forward, and now bathed in the light of the single bulb that was above him his features were left in stark relief. In the added light his crisp-white, wingtip collared dress shirt and waistcoat almost shone and the starched cloth did nothing to hide the hard planes of his chest and abdomen, tempting any viewer to want to touch, and the hard cut of his jaw gave Billy an impression that the man was stubborn and unyielding in his nature, though the fullness and elegant curve of his lips sweetened the otherwise marbled and chiselled, almost solemn features.

All in, the man now towering above Billy was huge and imposing, and the way his broad shoulders and enormous arms were straining against the jacket he wore - in a manner in which most men’s assuredly did not - that spoke volumes of the man’s physical capabilities as well. He really looked more like a heavy labourer than a blueblood; his aristocratic accent and outfit however marking him amongst the ranks of the latter group.

After what had to be no more than few seconds - even though they felt like years - the man took another step towards Billy, and the trembling man had just enough time to see a flash of clear, keen blue eyes before he fled, bolting to the door and pounding up the stairs, heart hammering in his chest.

But then to Billy’s horror he heard footfalls following, determined, heavy steps of a large man right on his heels, taking the stairs two or three steps at a time like someone who was no stranger to running.

The youngest Kaplan rushed into the first floor’s corridor and towards his own room, passing the atrium without crouching, and just as he thought he had managed to put some distance between himself and his pursuer, a large hand grabbed him by the shoulder and halted him where he stood. A part of Billy wanted him to struggle free and flee, but all he had experienced with his family had made him so terrified of resisting when he was pinned or held down, that he simply went limp like a deer caught by its neck by a tiger, realising that the game was over.

The man who had stopped Billy was now looming over him, his hold on the smaller man’s shoulder firm but not tight enough to hurt him. It was a wide hand, calloused as well, Billy realised, when he felt it ever so slightly catching against the fabric of his coat. Its touch however was warm and careful, soft even, as it gently turned him. Billy could feel how that hand held so much power, thick, long fingers reaching a long way down his shoulder and onto his back, speaking volumes of the man’s size and what he would be capable of if he would want to punish Billy for his ill-deed.

“Who are you?” The man asked, keeping his voice low and surprisingly soft, his low voice lacking the accusatory hardness Billy had expected.

Billy’s lower lip trembled, and he raised his gaze from the floor, desperation rolling off of him in waves. But then his eyes caught the first proper sight of the large man’s face, and his world quaked, and for once in Billy’s life it was not from outright fright.

The man that had caught him was handsome beyond reason, his jaw sharp and defined, lips full and soft looking, short and neatly styled hair like spun gold. And then… then there were his eyes; even bluer and more beautiful than Billy had first realised, and with a look in them that ever so slightly lessened the trembling man’s terror. The blond man’s eyes were keenly looking at Billy, but his gaze was not one of anger or hardness. No, he was looking at Billy with soft curiosity and with what almost looked like kindness. Not that Billy had a lot of experience from kindness in his wretched little life.

“Who are you?” The man again queried softly, gazing in Billy’s eyes.

Billy’s mouth opened but no sound came out, so lost he suddenly was as he gazed up into the deep, blue eyes of the man in front of him. No one had in years looked at him with such lack of… derision or pity, simply looked at him like he was a human being deserving the barest modicum of kindness and basic decency.

“I’m…” Billy whispered finally. “I’m Billy.” Why he gave the diminutive of his name he did not know, no one besides he himself had called him Billy in years.

The man quirked up an eyebrow and gave him a small smile, nodding. “Teddy.” He introduced himself informally. “Now… just out of curiosity, Billy, are you a visitor of Sir Edmund’s or…” His eyes roamed over Billy’s form, gaze setting on his trembling, limp arm for a moment, and the smaller man wanted the ground to open and swallow him whole.

Billy knew how he looked like; a sad, pale, trembling and pathetic little weakling, and though Billy was wearing a suit, it was a very worn and very out of fashion one, and he clearly wasn’t a servant. So, the open-ended question was a reasonable one; why Sir Edmund would have someone like Billy roaming his Hall’s corridors?

“I’m… I’m William Kaplan, Si- Sir Edmund’s fourth son… Sir.” Billy added meekly, not labouring under any assumption that they were equals, let alone on first name terms, even despite the man giving his name in a such a familiar manner.

“I did not know he had a fourth son.” The man - Teddy - added, his expression slightly puzzled and confused now.

“I’m… I’m not suppo-” Billy stuttered, feeling tongue-tied, the fear that had eased for a moment now returning with vengeance. “Su- Supposed to leave my room, sir. I should not be here, I’m so sorry, please don’t tell my father what I did. Please…”

He sounded woefully desperate as he pleaded, and Billy lowered his eyes in shame, the deep blue of the large man’s eyes suddenly too much to bear.

“Please don’t tell my father. I… I returned the money, please…” He rasped anxiously.

“Why did you do it?” The man asked almost worriedly and removed his large hand from Billy’s shoulder, and for some reason Billy wished for the hand to remain there.

Billy just swallowed thickly and shuddered. What was he supposed to say? That he was trying to scrounge enough money to a secret cache so that he could someday escape his vile family; a family where he was not just ignored and shunned, but actively terrorised by his own blood and kin.

No one would believe him. No one would think that the venerable pillar of the County, Sir Edmund, and his war-hero sons could be so cruel and callous towards their own son and brother. How would Billy explain the terror he went through daily, for it was nearly impossible to put into words? He had never needed to explain the creeping void and cold in his heart to anyone before, so where would he start? He had no idea how to tell about the ice that gathered on his soul, and the cold hand that squeezed his heart when things went wrong, when he did something that gave his father the barest of excuses to punish him. He had never needed to tell anyone about the beatings, the mental torture and how his family had turned him into a nervous, terrified wreck of a man.

And then there were the things that had happened to him, but he had never even processed himself. The things he had pushed away in a far, deep corner of his mind and never wanted to address or think about ever again. The things that he could not think about, because it hurt too much, his brain having shoved them in a deep, dark drawer, blurring them out of protection of its own sanity.

Some things were better left forgotten and discarded, some things went further than the pain, the things that could not be explained by describing the situation. It was not as simple as saying ‘ _they hit me_ ’, but much closer to ‘ _they hurt me, and I still fully don’t know why_ ’. How could he explain to another person something he did not yet understand himself?

But before Billy could come up with something reasonable to say, some circumvent explanation, he heard hurried steps coming up the grand main staircase and he looked desperately up at the blond man, praying that the kindness in his eyes was more than a trick of his own desperate mind.

“Please…” He quietly begged, pathetically really, his voice almost a whimper. “Please don’t te-”

“William.” A cold and hard voice said, making Billy hunch his shoulders instinctively, and from the corner of his eye he saw his eldest brother Edward stalking towards him and the towering blond next to him. “What are you doing out here?” He asked from Billy, voice cold, though impeccably polite and smooth in the presence of an outsider.

Before Billy could come up with something to say, his father’s guest took a relaxed step towards his brother, his expression a pleasant smile. “I took a little stroll about the house and got a bit lost, but your brother here found me wandering in the corridor outside his room and he kindly led me back here.” The man said easily, and to Billy’s eternal gratitude, absolutely convincingly.

“I…” Billy uttered but shut himself up when he saw his brother’s gaze.

“Go to you room, William.” Edward said emotionlessly.

“O- Of course.” Billy croaked and turned towards the blond man, playing along with his act. “Good night, I ho- hope that you enjoy the rest of the evening, sir.”

“I’m sure His Grace will.” Edward said before the other man could answer and held out his arm towards the stairs. “And I’m sure that father will be _happy_ to hear how you were being helpful.”

Corner of Edward’s mouth quirked up imperceptibly, but cruelly nonetheless, and Billy felt sick as he turned away from his brother and the handsome large man, feeling their eyes on his back as he slunk back to his room, shivering from fright.

Once he was back in his room, he felt cold and desperate, and even if his father would believe the explanation for him leaving the room there would be consequences from him showing himself to an outsider.

Billy sat on his bed, rocking minutely as he kept glancing at the clock for the next hour and a half, each minute feeling long like year, and then he heard it, the doorknob rattling, and he shakily stood up. His mouth was dry and tasted ashen, and his left arm shook uncontrollably, what little control he usually had over it now fully gone because of terror.

He felt like a condemned man waiting for the noose. Though, even a condemned man was finally put out of his misery by the quick drop, whereas Billy’s torment carried on, day after day and year after year, with no end in sight.

Sir Edmund walked into Billy’s room with an air of aloofness, gazing about the room almost as if there was no one in there, his eyes gliding over Billy’s trembling form with cool detachment. The head of the Kaplan family slowly strolled to the fireplace and glanced at his pocket watch and then at Billy’s clock on the mantlepiece and at the picture next to it.

After watching at the picture for a tick Billy’s father shut his watch’s lid with a definite little click, the sound almost like a gunshot in the quiet, tensioned air. Every fibre of Billy’s being wanted him to run, to just bolt and flee, but he knew from experience that it would only make things worse for him, give his father even more excuses to dish out ‘correction’, as Sir Edmund called his beatings.

“What did I say, William?” Billy’s father began almost smoothly. “What did I say about you showing your face to any of my guests.”

“Tha-” Billy stuttered meekly. “That I should not, that I should stay in my room, sir.”

“Why then, _William_ …” The way his father said his name felt almost like someone was pouring acid on Billy’s skin, physically hurting him. “Why didn’t you stay in your room?”

“I… I heard that man outside my room and I- I peeked out and he spotted me… And I… I offered to show him the way back to the stairway, sir.”

“What did you say to him?” Sir Edmund asked coldly and walked to Billy, his eyes dark and emotionless.

“No- Nothing, sir.” Billy whispered. “I just greeted him and led him to the landing and then Edward came and…” Billy’s words died on his lips.

He was outright lying now and if his father knew, if the man - ‘ _Teddy_ ’ something in him whispered - if the man had told the truth then…

Billy did not want to imagine what his father would do.

Sir Edmund regarded him for a moment and then the hit came, a fist at Billy’s left eye. Though it missed its mark slightly, hitting Billy right under the eye, but it still hurt, and pain exploded on the youngest Kaplan’s face. Billy crumbled down with a cry of pain, tears in his eyes and head spinning as he ended on the floor to cower at his father’s feet.

“I told you to stay in your room.” His father said, voice still cold and level as he gazed at his son. “Didn’t I? But…” He sighed. “You always were a disappointingly slow and useless burden.” The older Kaplan hummed almost thoughtfully. “I really ought to have drowned you in the bathtub that day; the day when you killed your mother by being born.”

There finally was a flicker of emotion in Sir Edmunds eyes, a flicker of utter contempt and disgust towards his youngest son.

“You killed my beautiful wife and took away mother from your brothers. Really, William… What are you good for?” Sir Edmund knelt to his son’s level, painfully grasping his jaw and making sure his fingers dug into the blooming bruise on Billy’s left cheek, drawing a hurt sound from him. “What are you good for?” He asked again.

“Nothing, sir.” Billy whimpered, tears rolling down his cheeks.

“That’s right, you are a filthy little cripple, William.” Sir Edmund said venomously. “Nothing more than a matricidal little cripple. What are you?” He demanded.

Billy whimpered and his father tightened his grip. “ _What. Are You_?” Sir Edmund hissed out the question again, rattling Billy’s head in his hold violently.

“Fi- Filthy little cripple.” Billy croaked wetly.

Billy’s father kept his steely grip tight on Billy’s jaw until he moved to stand up, but not before squeezing the forming bruise on Billy’s cheek forcefully one last time, pulling another pained whimper from his youngest son.

“I’m sor-” Billy whispered, but his father’s backhand on his already hurting cheek nearly made him faint from the sharp bolt of agony, flashing lights dancing in his eyes.

“You know you are not allowed to speak if not spoken to.” Sir Edmund said matter-of-factly, turning and walking to the door. “No supper or breakfast to you.” He added and walked out, leaving Billy on the floor in a sobbing mess.

A heavy flow of tears streamed down his cheeks, eyes watery enough to spill over once, and then many times more. Billy felt as if his nose was stuffed with cotton, thick with tears and yet running like a waterfall. Sobs stuttered past his lips, sniffles and a hiccups soon following. His cheek was burning and smarting with a throbbing pain that almost seemed to increase the more he sat there.

Billy stayed on the floor for a while, crying from pain and for his lot in the world until he could no more, but finally he stood up with shaky legs, the acute, sharp pain from his father’s hits slowly turning into a pulsing, painful throbbing on his cheek. He put a finger in his mouth and prodded his gums gingerly; gloomily happy that none of his teeth were loose.

He swayed where he stood for a while after checking his mouth, not bothering with a mirror, knowing exactly what would happen; the angry fresh red of the bruise would soon darken into hues of blue and black, then after a few days it would change its colour into sickening shades of green and yellow, before finally starting to disappear. So, nothing new in that.

Billy finally got himself moving and went and turned off all the lamps, save the one on his nightstand, and he unsteadily walked to the window. He opened the drapes and pressed his aching cheek to the cold glass, hissing from pain, but it would help just a little bit, not anyway as helpful as ice or a cold steak, but still better than nothing. Billy moved his cheek from pane to pane in search of coolness, and when the cold spots were spent, he withdrew and walked to his closet and pulled out a tin of biscuits.

Over the years he had developed a practice of squirrelling away some long-lasting foodstuffs; biscuits, dried fruit, hardtack and even chocolate, and Billy now mechanically ate a couple of his biscuits, more out of habit than form actual hunger, having in the past noticed that sugar seemed to ease his tension and fright just a tad. It hurt to chew but he did it anyway.

Billy put away his tin and pulled out from under a loose floorboard of his closet another tin, this one far more precious and important than the one containing his sugary treats, for this was his way out.

He popped open the lid of the plain metal box and made sure everything in there was accounted for; all the coins and a few notes were there, all in all 27 pounds in different denominations. Though, even if it was a decent amount Billy knew he needed more for his escape to be a successful one. Yes, he had just about enough money for a third class crossing to Canada or America, but he also needed money to get himself to Liverpool or Southampton and a small nest egg to survive once across the pond.

Even with his savings he would need to find employment and it would not be easy, Billy knew it well; he had no discernible skills, nor education to speak of, saddled with a withered arm, and so making a new life in a new country would be hard. He knew that he would probably fail, but at least he would fail on his own terms.

He’d rather die in a ditch under the stars than eke out the rest of his hellish life under his monstrous father’s roof.

Billy stared at his little cache of money for a moment longer and then carefully hid it back under the loose board, for a minute thinking about the day when he wouldn’t have to put the tin back in its hiding spot.

He had been collecting the money for nearly two years now and it would take him at least another year to have enough to escape, more likely two. It was a slow and dangerous process to pinch it from his brothers, to take a farthing or a penny from their unguarded wallets every now and then. But he had succeeded so far and Billy still fondly remembered how he had once taken a whole fiver from his passed out eldest brother’s pocket, and how he had then the following day overheard his father admonishing Edward for him wasting money to alcohol and gambling.

Billy almost wistfully smiled at the memory and made one last onceover to be sure that nothing looked peculiar or drew attention to itself in his closet and he shut the door with a small click. There was no lock on his closet, he wasn’t allowed the right to privacy, but he had grown used to it, to be treated more like a prisoner than anything else. With a small sigh he stood up and kicked off his shoes, changing into his pyjamas.

“Damn it.” Billy gritted out weakly when he accidentally brushed his fingers against the bruise on his cheek, a lick of pain coursing across his face.

He climbed into the bed and stared up at the ceiling, feeling his own pulse as a throb on his cheek, a painful, warm rawness making him feel so ill-at-ease that sleep would almost surely avoid him that night. Billy reached over and turned off his bedside lamp, plunging the room into darkness that slowly morphed into different deep shades of blue as his eyes grew accustomed to the dark. Moonlight spilled into the room through the drapes he had forgotten to shut, and Billy stared at the shadows and pale moonlight playing on his room’s walls, his smarting cheek keeping him awake and thoughts swirling in his head like a maelstrom.

He had understood that his family was not quite ordinary at a young age, though back then it had not been quite so bad as he still had had his nanny, Ms Buntley, the only person in his miserable life to show him affection and kindness. His father had been cold and distant even back then, just like his brothers, but looking back now it seemed almost lovely that his father had kept his distance. But slowly over the years it had gotten worse, especially after Ms Buntley had left, smacks about the ears turning into proper blows and Billy’s brothers coming up with all sorts of ways of bullying and hurting him. With their father’s approval of course.

Then finally at one point it had dawned on Billy that his family didn’t just dislike him; they hated him. Properly and venomously hated him for his perceived crime of being born, and they had made it clear over the torturously long years, things getting only worse as Billy got older, trying to survive the things his family subjected him to.

Could he survive another year, another hellish year of pain and things added to the growing list of things that had hurt him? He could do it, probably. He had survived this long, so what was another year or two of beatings and humiliation when it separated him from his way out.

Billy’s gaze was still slowly raking across the room when he noticed a crooked shadow on the ceiling, and he followed it to the sturdy looking hook that cast it. He had always pondered why the brass hook was there, but then he had found out that it was a leftover from a remodelling of the Hall, where a large room had been divided into smaller ones and the room’s chandelier hook had been left into what had become Billy’s room as a reminder of the old, grander room.

Billy gazed at the hook for a while and then closed his eyes as resigned, cold peace settled over him.

Were his plan to fail, then the hook and a sturdy leather belt would be his other way out.

Billy put the book he had finished the previous night back into its place on the bookshelf, plucking out the one next to it as he had intended to read it for a while now. One of the few things - the only thing perhaps - he liked about Bagley Hall was its well-stocked library, Billy’s grandfather from his father’s side apparently having been an avid reader.

Technically the library and every other room in the Hall, save his own room and the bathroom, were out-of-bounds to him, but when his father and brothers were away, he dared to venture into them, exploring his ‘home’ to give himself something else besides reading to do. The servants should have told about his little outings to his father, but they turned a blind eye when the youngest Kaplan boy timidly puttered about the Hall. They even had the decency to alert him with a small cough if Billy did not notice that his family was returning, giving him enough time to bolt back to his room.

Billy was grateful for those little acts of kindness, though he also resented the way in which the servants pretended that he wasn’t periodically sporting a black eye or split lip. But… they were just as terrified of his father as Billy was, so he could understand it, understand the need for the staff to stay in his father’s good graces.

Billy left the library and aimlessly wandered in the rooms of the Hall, each of them familiar to him in the smallest of detail as he had nothing better to do than to mosey about the rooms and hallways, searching every nook and cranny in vain attempt to amuse himself with something else besides reading. He knew that there was a tear in the Yellow Room’s wallpaper behind the mahogany armoire, and Billy had learnt where to step if one did not want the small dining room’s parquet floor to creak underfoot, and those were just a couple of the things he had learnt over the years.

He really had an absurdly intimate knowledge of Bagley Hall and its rooms, but he had no memories or experiences tied to that knowledge. They weren’t rooms with connection to his life -at least not to his life after his early years - as he always was alone in them and nothing of noteworthy had happened to him in them since he was a boy.

He sometimes felt like a curator walking in circles in a house turned into a museum, rooms warm, airy and clean, but utterly lifeless and still with no life in them, paintings of long dead people and ancestors on the walls the only signs of human life. So… perhaps he was more of a ghost than a curator; doomed to wander up and down the corridors of his prison, invisible to all save the demons tasked to torment him, demons with the faces of his father and brothers.

Billy had ended up in the drawing room, looking out of the French doors over the stone patio and across the expansive lawn and gardens behind the house. The green grass and the distant trees looked so inviting in their lushness, English summer showing its prettier side for once, and he longed to go outside. It had been so long since Billy had felt something else than wooden floors or rugs under his feet, the only fresh air he got wafting through open windows.

He wanted to go outside, god how he wanted it, but he did not dare.

The landscape and the garden surrounding the Hall were too open and flat, and it would so easy for someone to spot him; his father or brothers returning home, or one of the gardeners spotting him and then inadvertently, or quite knowingly, mentioning to his father that Billy had been seen outside.

Billy shuddered at the thought, having an inkling on what would happen if found out; beating, obviously, but also a solution of a lasting nature to prevent him from wandering. His father would lock him in his room permanently and that would be it; Billy’s transformation into a prisoner in all but name finally complete.

He would only have one mean of escape left…

Well, his father would probably be just happy for his death and he’d turn it into a tragedy where he, a loving father lost a delicate and wonderful son, and people would feel sorry for the upstanding Baronet for his unfortunate loss. Of course, it would be made to look as if Billy hadn’t killed himself, as suicide would look bad - raising questions and so forth - so it would be one of those little tragedies happening at home. One of those unfortunate happenstances one read about in the paper, Billy falling over a balcony railing or slipping in bath and cracking his head open.

Billy turned away from the door, tearing his eyes from the picturesque view and his gaze found his own reflection in the large mirror over the fireplace, his reversed image staring mutely back at him.

A small, desperate little chuckle escaped between Billy’s lips when he took in the sight of his own face; he looked like someone already had tried to crack his head open, the bruise under his eye and on his cheek a hideous shade of greenish yellow that looked utterly repulsive.

Billy brought his fingers to his face and slightly pressed the contusion, grimacing from pain that only now appeared if the bruising was touched. At least it didn’t hurt to chew any longer and the throbbing had lessened thanks to the small bottle of aspirin one of the maids had hidden a in the pile of clean clothes that had been brought to his room.

His gaze then moved away from the bruise to his more general appearance and that was not in any way uplifting either. Billy was small and thin, nearly bony, with ashen and pale skin, and were it a couple of decades earlier his white pallor might have been considered fashionable and even appropriate for someone part of the upper class, but nowadays his paleness just made him look ill.

Billy’s clothes weren’t much to cheer either, cloth worn and old, clearly a hand-me-down suit from one of his brothers and a bit ill-fitting, not really meant for someone of his size. Billy could not recall with surety, but the suit was probably from his second eldest brother George, whose shoulders and general build was broader than Billy’s, making the fabric sag on his much narrower body.

All in all, the man in the mirror looked frumpy and miserable; dark shadows noticeable under his haunted and broken eyes, shoulders and posture far too hunched for someone of his age, forced down under the weight of his life. His right hand was clutching a book and the other uselessly hung at his side, trembling every now and then for no apparent reason. Billy most assuredly was not part of the bright young things, no one’s idea of a proper man, and that thought brought his mind circling back to what his father had said.

Billy hated his father, but there was a horrible truth in his venomous words; he really was useless. He had no formal education, home-schooled by distant and uncaring tutors until he was fifteen and then left on his own devices, and he could not do anything with his hands. What could he really do? What was he worth?

Nothing; was the answer.

Billy pushed down the horrible resignation that tried to took hold of him and he took a few steady breaths to calm himself, trying to find peace in the thought that at least he was very good at one thing, and that was buggering on.

He had buggered on this long, and he could do so for another year or two. He would just have to go on just a little bit longer, even if it felt, so, so _hard_.

“Bugger on, Billy.” He whispered to his reflection, smiling weakly, alone.

Always alone.

A horrible thought crossed trough his mind and Billy swallowed hard; he could not even recall the last time he had properly smiled at someone, there really wasn’t anyone in his life he was happy to see. Let alone someone happy to see him.

A knock interrupted the stillness of the room and Billy nearly jumped out of his skin when Carstairs, their butler, entered the drawing room.

“Master William,” He addressed Billy plainly. “There’s a visitor waiting in the atrium.”

Billy frowned, his heart racing from the knock.

Didn’t Carstairs remember that even if he was the only member of the family around when someone visited unannounced, they were not to be greeted by Billy under any circumstances, no matter who the person was.

Carstairs cleared his throat, seeming slightly surprised by his own words when he added as a clarification: “He is here to see you, Master William, specifically asking for you. Quite… firmly.”

Billy blinked couple of times, utterly dumbfounded. He didn’t have visitors.

Never.

It simply did not happen as there was no one who wanted to see Billy or knew him outside the family.

“Wh- Who is it?” He asked carefully, thoughts of it being some kind of a cruel joke by his brothers immediately making him feel wary.

“His Grace the Duke of Hetton.” Carstairs replied impassively. “He says that you met briefly at your father’s party four days ago.”

Billy had to grab the back of a nearby armchair for support, his legs apparently trying to turn to jelly. Yes, plain old Billy meeting a duke out of the blue would have been shocking as it was, but this was _the Duke_.

Edward had addressed the large man who had found Billy as ‘His Grace’, and Billy had realised it only the morning after the party, the understanding that the handsome man had been a duke hitting him like the proverbial ton of falling bricks. It had left him reeling, the man’s behaviour so unlike what one expected from a high-ranking peer, and Billy had just wallowed in self-disgust because of his own feeble and pathetic behaviour in the presence of such a man. He had been almost happy that his father’s threat to withhold breakfast had been kept, Billy’s appetite having vanished from sheer mortification. Though, when the worst of his feelings had left him, a sense of keen curiosity had filled him, a need to find something about the man gripping him tightly.

Luckily the house had been empty of the rest of Billy’s family later that day, and so he had been able to peruse through Burke’s Peerage in the library to find out who of the land’s dukes this one had been. In the book only one man had been of the right age, everyone else far too old to be him: Theodore Rufus Æthelred George Edward Altman, 16th Duke of Hetton, head of one the most ancient families in the land, and also one of the wealthiest men in the country.

Though, the book had only used vague terms when describing the family’s means, but considering that it had defined the ducal family’s wealth as ‘substantial even amongst the aristocracy’, that had made Billy just shudder; he had tried to steal from a very rich i.e. powerful man.

Billy had - feeling slightly ill from the revelation - then grabbed the book where the great country house of the nobility were listed and described in detail, only to find the entry regarding Hetton Hall, the seat of the Altman family in Lancashire, to be a rather short one. Only a blurry and very unclear picture of the building had accompanied the short description, and not much else had been given to the reader.

Billy had then scoured the library for any extra information on the Altman family and the results had been… slim, to say the least. All the books, where any other great family’s life and history was sketched out in meticulous detail, had only short and ambiguous descriptions of the ducal family. Many though offered as an explanation the Altman family’s almost compulsive desire to remain private, anything concrete on them only available from public records.

It was beyond peculiar to peruse through book after book when all they had to offer was the Altman family’s coat of arms, genealogy and some equivocal and general things about the umpteenth Duke serving as an diplomat or as a Peer in the House of Lords a century or two earlier. And the closer to the present the books got - peculiarly - even less there was about the Altman family find out, and of the current Duke there was nothing more than Burke’s Peerage had offered. Billy’s afternoon long search to find out more of the man he had met had been a dismayingly unfruitful endeavour in the end, resulting with him learning next to nothing about the alluringly handsome young peer.

‘ _You know one thing about him.’_ A small voice in his mind whispered softly. _‘He goes by Teddy, not Theo or Ted_ ’.

Billy pushed aside the gentle voice in his head, swallowing thickly after realising that he had stood still for a good few seconds, his gaze meeting Carstairs’ stoic stare. Billy then gathered his wits for a brief moment, and he focused on the pertinent question.

What on earth did the Duke want with him?

Billy’s mind was already coming up with all sorts of unpleasant explanations and reasons for the Peer’s visit and he again swallowed hard. Maybe he should just tell Carstairs to ask the man to leave; it really was the safest option. But a part of Billy truly wanted to meet the man and find out what he wanted. The visit really was - even if it frightened him - the most exciting thing that had happened to him, well… ever, really.

“I- In the atrium?” Billy checked from the Butler after making his mind.

“Yes, Master William.” Carstairs answered coolly.

Billy put away his book, nodding jerkily, and Carstairs took it as an cue to open the door to the atrium.

Billy took a one last glance of himself in the mirror - looking just as pathetic, small and bruised as before - and he then apprehensively walked into the entrance hall. He really wanted to have the confidence to walk in head held high, but any shred of confidence had been beaten out of him years ago, and the sight that met him did not in any way help; the disparity between himself and the powerful young peer waiting for him glaringly and painfully clear.

The Duke was standing near the centre of the room, his back turned to Billy, and the man really was the epitome of a handsome, masculine man; tall, broad, and powerful looking. And where most tall men, especially amongst the aristocracy tended to be rather lanky beanpoles, the Duke most certainly was not. He was a heavyset and well-built beast of a man. _Very_ well-built Billy noticed and swallowed thickly at the sight of the man’s muscular physique, large and defined muscles rather noticeable even under his dark-grey suit. The immaculately cut suit really did accentuate his powerful figure well, drawing attention to the breadth of his church-door-wide shoulders, thick arms and powerful legs, giving him an aura of effortless power and authority that only a few possessed.

Billy had not quite realised or appreciated the Duke’s form properly in the dim upstairs hallway a few days ago, but now in the good light of the airy atrium Billy could truly appreciate the man’s intimidatingly large and handsome figure, and appreciate Billy did; the side of him he had always been ashamed of rearing its ugly head.

Of course, on top of his many - existing or not - shortcomings, Billy was an invert, a sodomite, a queer, or whatever term was used when talking about his kind. He - as he had at one time heard his brother referencing to someone with the term - most assuredly was batting for the other team.

Billy had always thought that his lot in the world could not get worse, but of course once he had reached puberty his deviant nature had become clear to himself. Thoughts that he should have not had had begun appearing in his head with ever increasing regularity, and pictures of Greek statues and nude paintings of the male variety in the library’s art books much more appealing than any blue pictures of scantily clad ladies he had found hidden in his brothers’ sock drawers.

Billy had vowed not to show that side of himself to anyone and he intended to do so; his withered arm a reason enough for most to consider him less, so giving them or his family an actual reason to lock him up was not going to happen if he had anything to do with it.

Not that there had been - or would be - any reason for anyone to suspect him to be an invert; he was more or less seen as a desireless monk when it came to human need for any kind of closeness and contact with someone else.

So, Billy pushed all his deviant thoughts away and he almost timidly walked to the large man, feeling like _he_ was the visitor and not the Duke; the Peer looking utterly relaxed and confident as he stood there surveying the atrium and its art. Well, Billy thought, when one was one of the richest men in the country with an ancient tittle, or two, to add to one’s name you could behave in somewhat secure and poised manner anywhere you went.

“Your Grace,” Billy greeted the Duke almost quietly, slightly dipping his jaw in an approximation of a bow and being mindful of Carstairs hovering nearby. “Welcome back to Bagley Hall.”

The Duke turned to face him, smiling. His pleasant expression however fell instantly and something dark flashed in the Duke’s eyes when his gaze passed over the left side of Billy’s face. The smaller man flinched as it reminded so much the looks of his father’s that promised pain, but then the dark expression of the Peer softened into one of almost worry.

“Mr Kaplan,” The Duke replied, his voice just as deep and resonant - almost gravelly - as it had been a few days ago. “It seems you’ve had a little accident.”

“Yes, I… walked into a door.” Billy said haltingly, feeling Carstairs’ eyes boring into the back of his head. “I’m always bumping into things,” Billy added quickly. “Silly of me, really.” He finished lamely, smiling weakly as his right hand went to hold onto his left wrist to stop the worst of the arm’s tremoring.

“Mhmm.” The Duke hummed and Billy briefly glanced at him, seeing that he wasn’t buying it.

“Carstairs told me that you wished to see me, so, how may I help you, sir?” Billy asked quietly, still unable to raise his chin up to properly meet the Duke’s eyes, his gaze lingering on the man’s wide chest.

Billy could feel how the blond man’s blue eyes looked at him keenly, and he again quickly glanced up his handsome face, the Duke’s expression unreadable; and Billy, pinned down by that intense stare, tried not to tremble. The youngish peer then turned his head slightly towards Carstairs, but his eyes firmly remained on Billy.

“May I have a glass of water?” The Duke asked, directing his words at the Butler but not looking at him. “The drive was a long one and I’m feeling a bit parched.”

“Your Grace.” Carstairs acknowledged with a small bow and turned, leaving to fetch some water for the thirsty peer.

“William,” The Duke said, his voice low and soft once the Butler was out of earshot. “Billy…” The way in which the blond softly said his name made Billy tremble. “I might be imagining things, seeing things that are not there, and do admonish me if I’m utterly in the wrong, but I was just wondering if you need… help?”

“Help?” Billy breathed out tremulously, his voice barely above whisper.

“For the past few days I’ve been thinking… Thinking that your father and brothers aren’t quite what they appear to be, and I was just wondering that maybe I could help you to put some… distance between you and them.”

“I… I don’t…” Billy said, his voice trembling as he tried to find the resolve to dismiss the Duke’s concern as politely as he could. “I…”

Billy was reeling from utter shock. Was the Duke being serious? Did he really want to help Billy to get away from his family? Was it even possible, had he seen what Billy’s family was truly like under the slick and polished exterior? Could he even trust the Duke; what if it was a ruse, a little prank set up by his father or brothers to torment Billy with a scrap of hollow hope?

The large man then did something that brought down the walls around Billy’s heart in a way that no reassuring words or wows of safety could have; the Duke raised his hand, palm up, and held it there open for Billy.

“Let me help you, Billy.” He said carefully, almost pleadingly.

Billy could feel his throat closing from sheer emotion as tears threatened to spill over, and he raised his gaze up. The Duke’s eyes were warm and soft, and Billy - god help him - believed him.

“I… Ple-” He said, the words just tumbling out of him, voice breaking. “Please take me with you.” He nearly whimpered, and without really meaning to he grabbed the Duke’s large warm hand.

The larger man smiled almost tenderly as his shoulders sagged slightly with what was almost relief. He closed his fingers, and Billy’s narrow and pale hand disappeared wholly into the Duke’s warm hold, his fingers and palm calloused but their hold gentler and warmer than any other hand’s that had previously touched Billy.

“I promise I will keep you safe.” The Duke softly murmured, and he placed his other, massive paw of a hand on Billy’s forearm. “You are safe with me.”

Billy just made a hoarse sound that was somewhere between a hiccup and a sob, tears rolling down his cheeks. He couldn’t meet the Duke’s eyes and just closed his wet eyes, lowering his jaw and trying to prevent himself from utterly crumbling there and then.

“Who did this?” The large man asked quietly as he brought a warm, calloused hand to hover over Billy’s bruised cheek. He did not touch however and of this Billy was grateful.

“M- My father.” Billy croaked, not really knowing why he answered to the Duke’s query so readily.

“Why?”

“You saw me.”

“You mean just because I… saw you? In the corridor?” The Duke rumbled; his voice almost horrified.

Billy just shrugged and swallowed thickly, feeling how the Duke squeezed his hand, and that again nearly broke the trembling man; as in that brief squeeze there was more gentleness and tenderness than Billy had received from any another human being since his nanny had been sent away all those long years ago.

“I’m going to get you out of here.” The Duke said, and there was something fierce in his words that struck Billy like a lightning.

Billy had no time to mull over the words as just then Carstairs returned, carrying a glass of water on a silver platter. His return drove Billy’s mind back to its old habits and he was quickly trying to come up with some explanation to his and the Duke’s closeness, but the young peer simply straightened himself and took a step forward so that he was standing next to Billy, towering there confidently with his hand on Billy’s shoulder.

“Carstairs it was?” The Duke asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“Right, Mr Kaplan will be accompanying me to a little trip, so please ask someone to help him to pack his belongings quickly.” His tone was almost offhanded in its confidence; a voice of someone used to say ‘jump’ and people asking, ‘how high’.

“I, sir… this.” The Butler sputtered. “This is highly irregular. Sir Edmund does not allow Master William to go outsi-” Carstairs’ mouth snapped shut, the man clearly realising he had misspoken.

“As far as I know,” The Duke said, his voice almost dangerously smooth. “Mr Kaplan is a grown man who is perfectly capable of making up his own mind.” He then glanced at Billy, his expression encouraging.

“Ca- Carstairs, would you… Please do as His Grace asked.” Billy said and swallowed thickly, feeling a small, reassuring squeeze on his shoulder as he - probably for the first time in his life - gave an order to his father’s butler.

“Of course… Master William.” The Butler gritted out and left to fetch some extra hands.

A minute or so later couple of the maids entered the atrium and passed Billy and the Duke with quick bobs.

“I’d better go to see that they pack the right things.” Billy said quietly.

“I’ll wait here.”

Billy nodded and quickly made his way up the stairs, glancing over the balustrade at the man below. ‘ _He could leave now_ ’ a mean voice in the back of his head whispered ‘ _he is playing a game, Edward, George or Henry set this up_ ’ the dark voice continued as a venomous hiss, but Billy ignored it. Well, tried to ignore it.

The maids were already packing his clothes into a trunk that the footmen had conjured from somewhere, efficiently folding and draping shirts and such into the trunk. There really wasn’t much to pack in there, Billy’s clothes not numerous and the amount of his shoes even more limited. The maids were quickly done regardless, and they turned to Billy once ready, expectantly looking at him.

“Is there something more you wish to be put there, Master William.” The other maid, Dora, asked softly.

Billy glanced around the room and then took a picture of his mother form the mantlepiece, gently wrapping it into one of his shirts and he then threw all his favourite books from his bookshelf on top of the lot. The trunk was not even half full, Billy’s meagre possessions not taking much space and he then nodded at Dora, the maid closing the lid and fastening the leather straps of the steamer trunk.

“Fred, Albert.” The other maid, Mary, called and the footmen waiting outside came to collect the trunk, and with very little effort they hauled the trunk out of the room.

Billy was about to follow them when he remembered his tin in the closet and he rushed there, the maids looking at him curiously. Billy pulled the loose board away and picked the tin up, pushing it against his chest protectively. Now he could leave, and Billy headed to the door.

“Good luck.” Dora said quietly when Billy passed her, giving him a small smile.

“Ta- Thank you.” Billy whispered and headed downstairs.

The Duke was still there waiting for him, his expression reassuring and patient. Billy had almost convinced himself that the blond man would have left, and he swallowed thickly; no small amount of relief swirling in his chest.

The young peer raised his eyebrows in a questioning manner, and even Billy and his somewhat limited skills in reading wordless gestures that did not promise violence understood it as a query: ‘ _Ready_?’, the large man was asking silently.

“Yes.” Billy whispered and gave one last glance to the atrium, his grip on the tin of money almost clutching.

“Shall we then.” The other man gently spoke.

Billy nodded, the gesture really meant for himself; he was doing it, leaving.

After all these years he was finally leaving.

“Master William,” Carstairs’ hard voice suddenly rang out. Perhaps he had realised that it would be better to at least try to act, than simply allow his master’s son escape. “I must protest. You cannot simply leave without your father’s permission.” The Butler said sternly and walked to Billy, but as he was about to grasp a hold of his arm, the Duke’s large hand grasped the Butler’s outstretched arm tightly.

“Don’t.” The large man said, and it was deep, low rumble that left his mouth.

That warning, almost protective note gave Billy the final push, gave him the sliver of courage he needed to start moving, and he walked out of the open front door and onto the gravel clad forecourt of Bagley Hall.

There, gleaming in the bright June air, stood a large, silvery-grey motor car with Billy’s trunk strapped to its luggage rack at the rear. A man wearing a dark-green chauffer’s cap and uniform was standing by it, and once he saw the Duke and Billy exiting the Hall, he opened the rear door of the impressive vehicle, expectantly standing by it.

Billy strode to the car was helped onto its luxuriously upholstered backseat by the driver, and the Duke followed suit, climbing next to him. He took a rather large portion of the space, and even though it was quite warm in the car Billy could feel the other man’s warmth radiating off of him, the feeling almost pleasant.

The Chauffer quickly closed the door and made his way to the driver’s seat, swiftly starting the engine, the whole car vibrating from its low, throaty thrumming. Billy could see how Carstairs was rushing towards the car, the footmen apprehensively following him, and he could hear one, half shouted protest by the Butler. But then the large motor car lurched forward, leaving Carstairs and the footmen standing there in a cloud of dust as the car drove away.

The car was accelerating and slowly the scenery behind the window began to move by faster and faster. Soon they reached the paved road and a turned towards… well, Billy didn’t know where they were heading, but he did not care. He was out.

He had escaped.

“Oh god.” Billy croaked and he was unable to prevent the shuddering that overtook his whole body. His tin fell from his hands, spilling the coins and notes all across the plush carpeting, and he broke into heaving sobs. “I’m out… I’m o- out…”

Billy felt as strong arms gently pulled his trembling form against a warm, broad chest, and in a desperate need for comfort he went willingly. He did not even think about it, he just buried his face into the crook of the other man’s neck as large hand settled onto his nape protectively. Billy’s whole body was shuddering from ugly, hoarse sobs and he must have been making a mess of the Duke’s jacket, but the large man didn’t seem to mind. If anything, the huge arm that had snaked around Billy’s narrow waist tightened its hold and the hand on his nape just pulled him in more firmly.

Billy continued crying, his tears soaking into the Duke’s jacket, his whole slight torso shaking under his arms, but the blond just held him tighter, hand rubbing little circles on Billy’s back, while the other stayed in its place on his neck, holding him close.

“I’m s- so sorry, Your Gra-” Billy wetly whimpered and tried to pull back, the other however preventing him.

“It quite alright, Billy.” The Duke gently murmured. “I promise you everything is going to be alright.”

Billy just made a wounded noise and trembled, and for some unexplainable reason he believed the man as he clung to him, his warmth thawing something inside Billy that had been frozen for so long and making him feel something he had not felt in years.

Hope.

It was hope that was tentatively beginning to reach out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that was a rough ride for Billy, but our favourite teddy bear is now there to make things better for him (insert all the hugs, cuddles, and eventual kisses). I don’t know how Billy oriented story this will be, and if I will have Teddy’s POV in this story, but at least the first couple of chapters will be solely from Billy’s point of view. But knowing myself… I probably will have something happening from Teddy’s perspective as well.
> 
> Billy’s family members are utterly made up in this, as I did not have the heart to turn canon characters into utter bastards. So, hate them as much as you want without feeling bad, that’s their purpose.
> 
> Regarding the addressing of Teddy in this story, as far as I know (?) in UK dukes are addressed as “Your Grace” (by inferiors) or “Duke” (by social equals) the first time in conversation and then followed by “Sir”. Peers below dukes would be addressed as “Lord X” the first time in conversation, followed by “My Lord/M’lord” regardless what their title is.
> 
> I got a headache when looking into the Peerages of Britain, but this Wikipedia article is reasonably helpful: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Peerages_in_the_United_Kingdom#Ranks
> 
> This video as well is useful and explains things quite well: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S0FJUHuUXN0
> 
> Any errors regarding these things are mistakes and I will do my best in avoiding them. However, even if my stories might suggest otherwise, I’m not a fan of hereditary systems of nobility or royalty, so I do not take these things too seriously.
> 
> Have a nice autumn and stay safe!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heading up north.

///\\\\\

Billy did not know how much time passed as he wept in the Duke’s embrace, but his tears finally ran dry and trembling ceased, replaced by slow breathing against the larger man’s shoulder. The embrace however did not end, and the Duke’s arms and his large torso - pressed against Billy’s smaller one - warmed him in ways he had never thought possible as Billy continued to cling to the bigger man. Even after several minutes the other man made no move to end the hug and at the back of his mind Billy knew that he should have been pulling back, try to apologise for his pathetic breakdown, but he so craved the closeness and warmth he now was receiving that he couldn’t find the strength to pull away.

A few minutes more, thought Billy.

Just another few minutes more couldn’t hurt, and he breathed in the other man’s scent as the car trundled on through the countryside along twisty, narrow roads.

The minutes passed and multiplied; a few minutes more for the second, third, fourth time…

Billy simply roosted there in the other man’s arms and slowly drifted in a feeling of warmth and contentedness like of which he had never felt before, brought forth by the simple act of soft touch from another human being.

But, finally at some point Billy groggily realised that the car had stopped and somehow the stillness of the vehicle made the world rush back into Billy’s consciousness, breaking the soft haze in which he had floated for god knew how long, and he with a jolt he pulled back from the Duke’s arms, the man letting him go.

Billy felt mortified, utterly mortified and ashamed, blush creeping up his cheeks when he realised what he had done, wept and shuddered and nearly slept in the arms of a near-stranger, even staining his jacket in the process.

“I’m…” Billy breathed out, at a loss as what to say. “Forgive me, Your Grace.”

Billy had pulled away from the large man, but in the confines of the car that did not mean much, and the Duke was barely a half an arm’s length away, so close that Billy still could feel the warmth his large body exuded and see that he was sporting the beginnings of an afternoon stubble. It was however the blond man’s eyes that drew Billy’s attention to themselves for a briefest of moments, a look of gentle concern in them, rather than the awkwardness or disgust he had expected.

Billy had to look away, his embarrassment making him feel so unworthy and insignificant that he simply couldn’t bear the look in them. Billy sighed tremulously and pulled his hands to his lap, worrying his shirt’s left sleeve’s cuff with his right hand, noticing that it was fraying from use and age, because of course it was; a fraying cuff for a fraying man.

The Duke reached over, telegraphing his movements well in advance like he was trying to approach a frightened animal, and gently gathered Billy’s hands - even the left one - into his large ones to warm them in his steady hold. His blue eyes never veered away from Billy’s face when the shuddering man dared to glance up at the larger man. They were so close, now, thighs pressing together, hands intertwined, and suddenly Billy wanted to reach up with his fingers, trace the line of those full lips, wondering if they were as soft as they looked.

The blond kept Billy’s hands in his, didn’t let go, every point of contact between them filling Billy’s mind until he couldn’t focus on anything but the larger man and how it felt to touch him. Though it could not have more than a few seconds, still the time seemed to stop, and when through their proximity a puff of breath ghosted around his lips it made Billy want… He was not sure what it made him want to do, he just knew fort the first time on his life he wanted.

“Billy,” The larger man gently began, breaking Billy’s spiralling, sinful train of thought and pulling him back to earth and to the awkwardness. “There is absolutely no reason for you to apologise, no reason at all.”

“I… thank you for the sentiment,” Billy swallowed hard, speaking quietly after his awful and unbecoming thoughts. “But I must have made you very uncomfortable and it’s a very poor way to repay your help, and I just hope you can forgive me, sir.”

The Duke sighed softly and gently squeezed Billy’s hands, and were Billy just a tad weaker man than he already was, he might have asked the Duke to do it again, the soft squeeze so gentle and sincere.

“I am not expecting a repayment for helping you. I’m doing what any decent fellow would do.”

“You have a rather optimistic view of what constitutes a ‘decent fellow’.” Billy muttered quietly.

The Duke chuckled in reply, the sound a low, amused rumble. “I suppose I do.” He hummed with a small smile. “And you might as well call me Teddy.” He then added with a friendly grin.

“I couldn’t possibly do that.” Billy said lowly. “You are a duke and I’m merely a… I’m the fourth son of a baronet, so it would not be… proper after such a short acquaintance, sir.”

“Proper behaviour and stiff upper lip are vastly overrated concepts.” The Duke hummed with a tinge of amusement in his voice. “I prefer Teddy, always have and always will, especially with friends.”

“Fr- Friends?” Billy said and it came out unevenly, almost as a sputter.

“Well, I mean,” The Duke hummed thoughtfully. “I call you Billy and you call me Teddy, and, well… aren’t diminutives a sign of friendship?”

Billy had not yet called the Duke ‘ _Teddy’_ , so his point was a moot one. And even though he’d never had a friend, even Billy knew that they were going at it the wrong way around.

“Doesn’t it usually require a certain, usually extended period of… well, knowing each other before people get to call each other by their first name?” Billy said quietly.

“Well…” The Duke drawled and shrugged his enormous shoulders. “I suppose you do have a point, but why not save time and forego all of that? Right, _friend_?”

The way in which the large man said the last word shook Billy and he again dared to glance up, finding the Duke’s blue eyes looking at him with a soft expression.

Billy swallowed thickly and he lowered his gaze back towards their intertwined hands; the way in which his hands were being held was indeed _friendly_ and gentle. Perhaps friendlier and gentler than it had any right to be, if thinking it rationally, and that prompted Billy’s next query.

“Why… Why are you doing… all of this; helping me…” He paused for a second and glanced up at the blond. “T- Teddy?” He added uncertainly, hoping to god that the man would not be offended.

The blond frowned but not unkindly. Rather, it was more in a manner that indicated that he himself did not quite know the answer either.

“Would it be terribly unkind and unfair on my part to admit that from the moment I met your family members I disliked them immensely?”

“It… It would not be.” Billy said barely above whisperer; he’d be the last person to deny the claim that there were a multitude of reasons to dislike them.

The Du- _Teddy_ hummed thoughtfully.

“Something in your father’s and brothers’ behaviour just felt… off.” He said and frowned. “They acted perfectly respectfully and politely of course, perhaps too much so, and it made me feel doubtful. I for a moment thought that it was merely my distaste towards parties and mingling acting up. You see, since the War I’ve felt somewhat ill-at-ease in large crowds and that’s why I was in the cloakroom, if you were wondering; to get away from the people accosting me with their favour currying and brownnosing.”

Billy had indeed been speculating why on earth had the Duke been milling about in what was basically a large closet, so he nodded wordlessly.

“Well,” The large man continued quietly. “Then I met you and you were… terrified.”

Billy tremulously nodded, still silent, and that feeling he had experienced that night fleetingly passed through him, and shivers again coursed up his back.

“I’ve seen terror, Billy.” Teddy continued quietly. “I saw it and experienced it myself in the trenches, and the way in which you looked at your brother when he mentioned your father, that… shook me. I… Something in me just wanted to grab you by the hand and get you out of there that very moment. I didn’t do so, and I tried to tell myself that I was overreacting and just seeing things and so - to my eternal regret - I did not act. I hope you can forgive me that. I so wish that I would have done something that night so that you would have been spared the pain of this.”

The blond raised his right hand near Billy’s bruised cheek, so close in fact that Billy could feel the warmth of it on his cheek. It took a lot of effort on his part to not crane into the touch in search of its warmth.

“I’m sorry that I did not act sooner, Billy.” Regret flashed in the Duke’s eyes.

Billy’s heart clenched from the sentiment; this man he had known for… no more than a few hours if being generous, was showing him more kindness and gentleness than he had received in years, and he was apologising for not acting there and then. Showing sincere remorse for rescuing Billy a few days later rather than there on the spot - mere minutes after they had met - like some Arthurian knight on his white steed.

“I think it’s now my turn to assure you that there is absolutely no reason for you to apologise.” Billy murmured softly. “I thought that my possible escape from my family’s clutches was years away, so a few days mean absolutely nothing in the grand scheme of things.”

“But you had to endure this.” Teddy said and carefully pressed his large hand on Billy’s cheek, something like anguish and regret flashing in his eyes.

Billy nearly whimpered out loud, but not from pain. No, it just felt so good to feel the other man’s large hand on his cheek, feel what was almost protectiveness in the man’s touch, and without really meaning to he ever so slightly pressed into the gentle touch and closed his eyes.

“It was not the first time, so no harm done.” Billy said lowly after a few heartbeats and opened his eyes.

It was the wrong thing to say and Teddy’s eyes flashed dangerously and Billy nearly flinched, but then he saw that the anger in the larger man’s eyes was not meant for him.

“Harm very much done.” The Duke gritted out.

“But now I’m out, so…” Billy shrugged and spoke softly after a short pause, and weakly squeezed the calloused hand still holding his left one. “So, that’s something.”

“Mhmm.” The Duke hummed gravelly and Billy only then realised that they had been for a moment gazing in each other’s eyes, and he quickly lowered his gaze.

“I… want to thank you for helping me. Well, thank you again I suppose.” Billy said quietly and finally he found the wherewithal to separate their intertwined hands, he was however too weak to pull away from the gentle touch on his cheek. “Could… Could I ask you for one more thing?”

“Anything.” The blond said seriously, and for some reason Billy really believed that the man meant it.

“If you could leave me to the nearest station, I would be very grateful.”

“What are your plans?” The Duke asked and regarded Billy carefully.

It was only then that it hit Billy, he did not have enough money to go through with his original plan. Nor did he have a passport, or any other official documents to actually get somewhere.

“I… I don’t know, really.” Billy finally whispered, feeling choked. “I was supposed to get myself across the Atlantic, but now...” Billy glanced down at their feet where his money was scattered across the plush carpet of the car’s floor. “But now I don’t have enough to do that, I think. I… I don’t know what to do. What will I…” Billy swallowed thickly as worry and uncertainty settled over him. “I… What should I do?”

His question was not meant to no one particular, but then the large hand on his cheek gently slid to his jaw and raised his gaze to the Duke’s gentle blue eyes.

“How about this,” He murmured softly and smiled. “You accompany me to Hetton Hall, allow me to host you as my guest as long as you need, and you can think about what you want to do without a rush.”

“I…” Billy muttered hesitantly. “If it would not be an imposition, then I’d be ever so grateful.”

For a moment the blond regarded the smaller man with an inscrutable expression and then he guffawed out a hearty laughter.

“Billy,” The Duke said with an amused, little smile after his outburst. “Hetton Hall has nearly two hundred rooms, so I’m sure we’ll find some quiet corner where we can put you up. Imposition…” He murmured and shook his head almost fondly.

“Well, in that case.” Billy said and he could feel his own mouth quirking into a smallest of smiles. “I’ve always wanted to see the north of England.”

The smile did not go unseen by the blond. “Is that a smile I see.” He asked softly.

“I suppose it is.” Billy murmured and glanced up at the large man, a happy smile softening his, sculpted, regal features into more boyish ones.

“Right then.” The Duke said almost excitedly and glanced at his watch. “We’ll catch the next train to Leeds and then go the rest of the way by car.”

It was only then that Billy realised that the car was standing in front of a small station, and a funny feeling coursed through him when he realised that he had never actually set foot inside a railway station, let alone been on a train.

“What about this car?” Billy blurted out and scolded himself immediately for his prying.

“I’ll send it back to London and ask the driver to send a word up north so that there will be another car waiting for us in Leeds.” The other replied easily, not apparently anyway perturbed by Billy’s accidental nosiness.

Billy just nodded and the Duke moved to open the door to climb out, the other man following suit. But when Billy’s foot kicked the coins on the floor he stopped, and with a slight redness on his cheeks he stooped down to pick the pennies, farthings and couple of the notes up. The blond, after realising what Billy was doing, bent down as well and scooped some of the coins into his large hand, and with an accompanying metallic clinking he dropped them back into Billy’s tin, smiling understandingly.

“Thank you.” Billy mumbled a bit awkwardly as he shut the lid of the small tin and climbed out after the Duke.

Teddy grabbed his hat from the chauffer and gave him quick instructions as Billy put his tin box into the trunk, making sure its clasps and straps were properly fastened. Then a station porter wearing a dark uniform and peaked cap came to collect Billy’s trunk and a sense of unease coursed through Billy as he watched his luggage being carted away; all his meagre belongings in that battered, old steamer trunk.

The Duke apparently noticed his worried gaze and gently steered Billy towards the station after the porter by placing his hand on his back, and though his large and warm paw of a hand lingered on the smaller man’s lower back only for a few seconds Billy found it nonetheless oddly soothing.

After the blond had bought them their tickets - first class Billy noted - they walked to the single platform of the quaint, quiet station and Billy looked to his left and right, the rails gleaming in the afternoon sun and disappearing behind gently curving bends at both directions.

They did not have to wait long on the platform though, as when the sound of an approaching train met their ears, an old, greying stationmaster puttered to the platform with his whistle and flags to receive it. The train came to view around the bend on Billy’s left side a moment later and after a slow approach it screeched to a halt in a cloud of steam, only a couple of people getting out with their luggage. The Duke led them to the right carriage and held the door open for Billy, him glancing down the side of the train to see how his trunk was loaded into the baggage car by the station porter.

Besides the two of them no one boarded the waiting train and their carriage was a quiet one Billy noted as they made their way down the narrow corridor to their compartment. Billy couldn’t help but to note how the Duke had to move sideways, his wide shoulders and bulky body too big for the tight corridor.

Billy was about to pass yet another empty compartment when a huge hand landed on his shoulder to stop him and he instinctively withdrew to himself - shoulders hunching from sheer reflex - but then Billy remembered who it was, and he tried to relax his posture.

Teddy seemed to notice his discomfort and pulled back his hand.

Billy could see how the Duke was about to apologise, but Billy just nodded towards the sliding door in front of which they were standing. “This one?” He asked and tried to keep his voice neutral, giving the impression that the large man had done nothing untoward.

“Yes.” The Duke said, and Billy could hear the apologetic note in his voice.

The compartment the blond had picked for them was empty and, lush immaculately upholstered seats were free for their use only, and for this Billy was quietly grateful. They sat down and the train did not linger at the station for long after that, and with a piercing shriek of the engine’s whistle the train lurched forward, and the small station slid past the window, disappearing into a cloud of steam.

Billy had ended up next to the window and the Duke had sat down next to him on the same seat on the aisle’s side instead of opposite of Billy. It was perhaps a bit weird to position oneself so, but Billy wasn’t about to complain, if anything he was almost glad to have the large man as a barrier between himself and the door through which anyone could have barged in unannounced. Logically thinking, Billy realised that it ought to have been the other way around; to be worried when having his only exit blocked. But for some reason he wasn’t in any way troubled from being comfortably sandwiched between the big, muscular man and the wall.

Before he had more time to dwell on why exactly he found the other’s closeness a positive thing, a guard came to inspect their tickets, breaking Billy’s train of thought. The man with his ticket puncher checked the tickets with routine efficiency and after whishing the two travellers good journey left the compartment, leaving the two men were by themselves again.

Billy surreptitiously glanced at the Duke, his profile in sharp relief due to the sun that shone through the windows behind him, making the man look somehow even more striking than before. His golden hair almost glowed in the light and the tendons of that thick and ramrod straight column of a neck moved and punched under the nigh flawless skin whenever he moved, and the shadow of his afternoon stubble only added to his manly and arrestingly good looks; he was almost like some mythical figure incarnate, Apollo or Ares, a Greek god made a man.

The blond apparently noticed Billy’s staring and he turned, but Billy quickly whipped his gaze away, instead focusing to look at the picturesque English countryside rolling past the window at a respectable pace.

To again have his mind concentrating to something else than the Duke’s devastating looks, Billy reached up to place his hand on the cool glass of the window and a somewhat disheartening feeling settling over him when he again realised that this was his first time onboard a train. He stared out of the window quietly and then withdrew his arm, gazing down at his lap once more.

“Before today I’ve never been on a train.” Billy said lowly. “Or in a motor car.” He added quietly and felt how the Duke shifted where he sat, sliding carefully towards him on the plush seat.

“Your butler, Carstairs…” Teddy spoke carefully. “He said something about you not being allowed to go outside…”

Billy nodded and swallowed thickly. “I haven’t been out much in… Well,” He bit his lower lip to stop it from trembling. “Ever.” Billy managed to grit out after a moment. “Before today I haven’t been more than two, three miles away from Bagley Hall in my entire life. My father’s will to keep me indoors was quite resolute.”

Even though he kept his eyes cast firmly down, Billy could almost feel the uneasiness the other man must have been feeling, disquiet practically radiating from him in waves.

“I had a bit more freedom when I was little, though.” Billy continued in a strangled voice, wondering in the back of his mind why he was telling about his miserable life so gamely.

“My father allowed me to play outside every now and then with my nanny, and back then I thought it was normal to not go out often because of my arm. But then one day Ms Buntley took me out for a walk to the village and that was… what? Twelve, thirteen years ago, I think. Anyway, we did it a couple of times and I so liked to see the village and other people. To just… have something else than Bagley Hall’s walls and garden in my life. This one-time Ms Buntley even bought me a small cone of vanilla ice-cream and… it was the best thing I had ever tasted. I asked if I could have another one the next time we were at the village and she promised that I could. I…”

Billy bit his lip so hard that he nearly broke the skin.

“I never got that second cone. My fa- Father, he realised that Ms Buntley was taking me further than just the immediate vicinity of the Hall and he did not like it; he did not like it at all and… And Ms Buntley was sent away not long from then, a week perhaps, and from there on I… I was kept in the house.”

Billy’s left arm had again begun to shake, and he grabbed its wrist tightly to keep it still.

“I was let out very occasionally to the garden, but only for very short periods of time, and probably just out of spite. I think it was a way for my father to torment me just a little bit more; give me a whiff of the outdoors every now and thus make it feel worse when I’d have to go back indoors for weeks and months on end. Like… Like giving a scrap of food to starving man; not enough to sate his hunger, and only meant to viciously pest him.”

“Billy…” The other man breathed out and Billy could hear the anguish in his words. “Your brothers they just… allowed it? All of it?”

“Quite happily,” Billy croaked. “And they took part whenever they felt like it, which was _always_ when they still lived in Bagley Hall, and recently it was a bit less often, but still often enough. They…”

Billy was quiet for a tick, trying to keep his voice from breaking and then continued barely above a whisper.

“They really hate me, you see. Me being born was the thing that killed our mother and as they all are older than I am they remember and miss her. So, in their eyes I’m the crippled whelp who killed their mother, and they are determined to make sure I pay for it.”

“That’s, good god…” The Duke huffed, sighing heavily. “Did you ever try to get away or get help?”

“No.” Billy croaked and shuddered. “There was no one to go to. My father was the only child and my grandparents died before I was born. There are also no close, or even distant family members from neither side of my parents that I know of who would know me, and… And to the outside world I was nothing more than my father’s crippled son, a burden to the family. My father he… He said that he’d have me put to some asylum if I would try to speak up or get help. No one would believe my word over his and I’d be branded as a lying madman on top of being cripple. I would have never been free.”

Suddenly out of the blue a sickening thought crossed Billy’s mind and he desperately glanced at the Duke; what if he thought Billy to be insane?

What if he had come to conclude that Billy was just lying through his teeth or just rambling things his skewed mind was conjuring up in its sick state. His life-story really was so… _unlikely_ and _implausible_ , that it could be brushed aside as delusion; a stalwart and reputable baronet and his equally upstanding sons keeping the family’s youngest son locked up against his will and tormenting him sounded more like something one would find in a cheap pulp magazine.

“I, please… I know this all must sound aw- awfully unlikely.” Billy uttered desperately, tears springing into his eyes before he could help himself. “I’m not making things up, please… You must believe me, please just… I’m not mad…”

Billy curled into himself and folded his arms over his chest defensively, holding the left one up with the right, half expecting the blond to conjure up a straitjacket from thin air to put on him. Instead of apprehending him though, Teddy slowly scooted closer on the soft seat, hand extended, and Billy watched him warily through his wet lashes, but allowed the Duke to tug his arms from around himself and pull the smaller man into a firm hug. Billy’s face pressed into Teddy’s firm chest, and he let out a shaky breath, not really understanding why he so readily went when pulled in.

“We are friends,” The blond murmured firmly. “And I _know_ that you are not mad and making things up.”

Billy let a small hurt sound of relief slip out before he brought his arms carefully up behind the other man’s back to return the hug, his healthy arm’s fingers digging in through the fabric of the Duke’s jacket, tears again seeping into the expensive cloth.

“Thank you. Thank you…” Billy whispered back eventually; voice thick.

The larger man pulled back slightly to take in Billy’s face; his eyes were wet and red-rimmed, and his lower lip was between his teeth to prevent sobs from getting out. Gently, the blond reached up with his large thumbs to brush the tears from the smaller man’s cheeks and Billy released his lip as he let out a soft gasp, head instinctively tilting into Teddy’s big hand. The large man then carefully cupped Billy’s face in both of his hands, and Billy couldn’t help himself, as if drawn in like metal to a lodestone, he melted and craned into the touch.

If being held by Teddy’s sturdy arms and him gently holding his cheek had given an inkling on how desperately Billy craved for another human being’s soft touch, then this… this was a revelation.

A full body shudder went through Billy and his eyes fell shut. Teddy’s hands burned like brands and Billy was able to feel every point they were touching, his fingertips, the swell of his palms, the warmth of his skin and scrape of callouses. Billy couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think over the intensity of feeling the other’s warm touch on his skin.

He simply slumped into the warmth of the Duke’s hands when Teddy put them against his cheeks, feeling off-balance and uncertain of everything.

“I’m sorry fo- for making you uncomfortable and awkward… again.” Billy wetly mumbled but made no to move to dislodge himself from the other’s hold. “I… I don’t know what came over me.”

“What came over you, was a perfectly normal reaction and there is nothing wrong in it.” Teddy said levelly.

There was no anger or awkwardness in his voice like Billy had expected there to be. Instead, there was only soft worry, and it drained Billy of the last of his own doubt of the Duke’s sincerity, and filled him instead with regret over his own feeble character.

“But you must think me as some… weakling.” The last word made Billy think of his father and he shuddered.

“There is nothing weak or feeble in crying and being afraid.” Teddy said and was quiet for a moment. “I’ve cried and been afraid myself. I lived through fear and terror and I’ve seen them reducing people to something horrendous; so, crying after what you’ve been through is just… normal.”

“But…” Billy tried weakly but, the blond simply sighed and gently raised Billy’s jaw up so that he could look into his eyes.

“You have been afraid and terrified for a long time, haven’t you Billy?”

“I… Yes.” He replied hoarsely.

“It made you feel… powerless and small. It made you… Feel like a string of a violin being wound tighter and tighter - too tight - all the while knowing that you were being pushed too far, past your limit. And you knew you couldn’t do anything to stop it, knew that the day would come when you would snap. One way or the other…”

“Yes.” Billy whispered.

How could this man, this handsome and powerful man with seemingly limitless reserves of surety know how he had felt, know the clawing and paralytic fear he had lived through?

“I’ve been there, in the trenches, and after the trenches…” Teddy said, his voice low and hoarse, and eyes full of something akin to anguish. “And if I would not have cried in someone else’s arms, then… Then I would have found a way to unwind myself _permanently_.”

Billy lowered his gaze and pressed his forehead against the warm shoulder of the other man, knowing what he meant, and Teddy’s hand resolutely stayed on his cheek while the other went to shield Billy’s back. The blond sighed, his thumb brushing up and down over Billy’s jaw and cheek, where an ugly greenish yellow bruise was still marring the otherwise pale skin.

“So, Billy, if you need a shoulder to cry on or someone to speak to, I’m here.”

“We’ve known each other for less than half a day.” Billy mumbled weakly, the Duke’s attitude and words more appropriate for fast, old friends.

Teddy did not speak, the rhythmic sound of the train speeding along the tracks the only sound in the compartment for a tick.

“Does it really matter?” The Duke quietly asked after a while.

“It sh- It should. But I… No, I don’t think it matters.” Billy whispered into the broad shoulder.

“Exactly what I thought.” Teddy said with tender surety and tried to withdraw his hand from Billy’s cheek.

“Don’t, please.” Billy said as his hand flew to the one on his cheek, holding fast to the Duke’s large hand, his grip about Teddy’s wrist tight lest he tried to pull away. He felt himself flush in embarrassment at just how pathetic the action must have seemed.

Teddy didn’t say anything about it though, just kept his hand where it was, looking at Billy in that soft way which left him feeling almost… safe. It made shivers course up Billy’s back, made him for the umpteenth time wonder why he so gladly trusted the man holding him.

“Could… Could I just stay here for a bit longer?” Billy found himself mumbling, unable to help himself from asking for a bit more time in the blond’s arms.

Teddy made an agreeing rumbly sound deep in his throat, hand moving to the back of Billy’s neck to grip in a way that made Billy feel pathetically small and wonderfully safe all at once. “You can stay there as long as you need.” The blond murmured into Billy’s black hair, and Billy with a soft sigh closed his eyes.

“I… Just a few minutes.”

“Just a few…” Teddy rumbled soothingly, and Billy nodded minutely as the warmth from the hand on his neck spread down across his whole body.

Billy yawned and nuzzled into the fabric his face was resting against, a soft lethargy in his limbs making him feel surprisingly comfortable at where he was sitting. He just listened quietly for a moment, the predictable and steady sounds of the moving train oddly relaxing, almost comforting in their even repetition. A small smile slowly crept to Billy’s lips as he gained more of his wits after his nap, the thought that there had to be a at least a couple of hundred miles between himself and his family an elating one. He was reasonably sure that he was not going to feel homesickness. Never.

Another yawn nearly dislocated Billy’s jaw and he stretched himself like a cat, feeling unexpectedly rested even though he had apparently just slept nearly upright whilst leaning against a wall of a moving train. He cracked open his eyes just a smidge and for a moment just stared at the scenery rolling by the window, noticing the low angle of the sun. Judging by the reddish tint over the landscape it had to be quite late into the afternoon, almost evening probably, and Billy turned to ask the time from his saviour.

The compartment was empty Billy realised, he the sole occupant in there.

An uneasy feeling immediately settled over him, and the nervous trepidation in a matter of seconds morphed into a cold dread. He was alone, there was no sign of the Duke, his folded overcoat that had served as Billy’s ad hoc pillow the only evidence of his existence. What if… what if he had left, just stepped out of the train at some station and left Billy to fend for himself; realised that it wasn’t worth the bother to try and help the jittery cripple Billy was.

His right hand almost reflexively clutched the grey overcoat that was now in his lap, panic fast settling over Billy when the door of the compartment glided open, the Duke slipping in with his hands full.

“Oh,” He said and smiled pleasantly. “You are up, excellent timing.”

Billy simply smiled weakly and nodded, swallowing down the bile that had risen to back of his throat from his pathetic panicking.

“Here,” Teddy handed him a bottle of something brown, and a small, square parcel in butcher’s paper to Billy. “Something to eat. I’m starving and I thought that you as well might want something to peck on.”

“Thank you.” Billy said and only then realised that he was hungry like a wolf, his stomach growling because of the immediate promise of food.

The blond settled next to him and tore open the paper of his own parcel, revealing two thick slices of bread with meat in between. “The restaurant car had some problem with their stock and so corned beef sandwiches were the only thing they were serving.” He said and took an enormous bite out of his sandwich, proceeding to open the flip-top cork of the bottle, a strong, spicy smell engulfing the small space. “But you can’t go wrong with sandwiches and ginger beer.”

Billy gave other the man a wobbly smile and nodded, tearing open the paper of his own sandwich and salivating from the smell of beef and mustard. The paper came off easily enough, but the cork was another matter as he couldn’t get enough pressure to push open the stiff cap from its hinges.

Teddy noticed his predicament and put away his food. “May I?” He asked gently.

Billy had never liked when he was pitied and infantilised because of his handicap. Not that he had experienced it a lot though. Enough however from well-meaning maids, who had not stayed in his father’s ploy after realising what kind of a household the Kaplans were, to know that he despised the pitying looks and coddling.

The Duke’s expression however was so… friendly and sincere, not at all patronising, that Billy acquiesced and gave the bottle to the other man.

“Thank you.” Billy mumbled and took a sip of the beer once it was back in his hand, relishing its spicy tang as he bit into his sandwich.

He could see how the man next to him took a quick glance of his left arm, and for a second an almost overpowering need for Billy to tell the blond to bugger off with his staring overtook him. But again, the Duke’s blue eyes were only soft; inquisitiveness, rather than pity or derision, evident in his gaze.

“You can ask,” Billy said quietly after a tick and nodded at his left arm. “If you want.”

“I just…” Teddy spoke carefully and took a sip from his bottle, probably to give himself a second to find the right words. “You said that you haven’t been far from your home before today, so I assume it isn’t something you got from the war.”

“You’d be right in supposing so.” Billy hummed, looking down at his left arm. “Though, I would probably prefer to it being a war wound, at least the-”

“No, you don’t,” The blond interrupted him, something painful evident in his words. “You really don’t.”

“I… I’m sorry.” Billy said lowly, kicking himself for such a cavalier attitude. “I did not mean to offend.”

“No, I’m…” The other man sighed heavily. “It’s fine.”

Billy nodded and this time he took a bite from his sandwich and a sip from his beer to prevent himself from putting his foot in his mouth a second time.

“I was born with it.” Billy finally spoke and looked at his left hand as it rested on his lap. “I… um… No one has ever told me exactly what happened, so I don’t know whether it happened when I was in my mother’s womb or if it somehow got mangled at birth. But still, it has always been like this; practically useless.”

He helplessly shrugged.

“I mean… I can feel with it and move it around. Well, a bit.” To prove his point Billy raised his left hand a few inches above his lap, the hand and entire arm trembling in the air from the effort for a few seconds and then flopping down softly. “When it’s a good day I can just about lift a small rubber ball with it up to my belly, but that’s about it. Not much of a use as an arm, but at least it acts as a weight to keep me from listing to my right.” He added with a small, self-deprecating grin.

“It doesn’t hurt?”

“No, not properly.” Billy shook his head. “Sometimes it goes a bit achy and stiff; a sensation not unlike pins and needles lasting for a while, but other than that… No, it does not hurt.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” The Duke said and gave Billy another of his smiles that warmed the smaller man to his core. “Has anyone ever tried to… do something to it?”

“You mean to cut it off?”

“Oh god no!” The Duke said looking alarmed. “I mean-”

“I was just joking.” Billy said, grinning, and a funny feeling coursed through him; he couldn’t remember the last time he had joked around someone. Had he ever? But now it just happened so… easily.

Teddy stared at Billy for a second and then smiled brightly. “Aren’t you the comedian.”

Billy chuckled softly and felt a small, happy flash igniting in his chest; so, this was how friendship felt. _Well_ , perhaps it wasn’t true friendship but at least it felt nice.

“But to answer your question properly; no, no one has ever looked into it. Though, our family doctor prodded and probed it whenever he saw me for some other reason. But other than that… no.”

The Duke hummed and both men busied themselves with their food for a while, almost comfortable silence settling over the compartment.

“What time is it?” Billy asked once he had finished his sandwich.

“It’s…” The Duke extended his left arm with a quick movement and glanced at his watch. “Almost six o’clock.”

“Oh.” Billy hummed and funny feeling settled over him.

“What is it?” The blond asked and glanced at Billy; his eyes again filled with soft worry.

“It’s just…” Billy said quietly. “My father must be home by now and so he knows that I’m… gone.”

“You are worried about what he will do?”

“Worried would be an understatement.” Billy said after a moment of silence, his voice strangled. “My father has always resented the fact that he is not a part of the peerage, that he is only a baronet. So, to make up for it he has gathered power and influence in his hands; he might not be a proper peer, but by god he will have the might and wealth of a one.”

Billy’s right hand was tightly gripping his thigh, the left one again shaking.

“That’s why I was planning to go to America or Canada.” Billy added hoarsely, a feeling of uneasiness settling over him. “It’s easier to hide oneself amongst the millions of others searching for something better in the west, than to try to disappear in this country where my father has more strings in his grasp than a spider has sitting in the middle of its web.”

Billy swallowed back the bile that threatened to rise to the back of his mouth, fear clawing his heart.

“I… I can’t go back. I can’t.” Billy whispered and closed his eyes, silent tears suddenly spilling over as he brought his hand to his mouth to stifle the hoarse sob that tore from his chest.

The other man moved closer, once again carefully wrapping his arms around the crying man.

“You’re not going back there, Billy. I won’t let anyone force you.” The blond rumbled, and Billy made a small sobbing sound, face once more pressed into Teddy’s chest as his left arm hung at his side while his right hand clutched at the other’s jacket like a lifeline.

“You don’t know my father.” Billy whispered into the bigger man’s thick chest. “He’s always had a temper and I… I might not precisely know what he’ll do, but I know he will try something.”

“Maybe he won’t do anything.” The Duke said quietly. “He must realise that the situation has changed, that he cannot simply continue his vileness.”

“No, he will. I embarrassed him. Humiliated him by running away and telling about his deeds to you. He won’t let this drop.” Billy said wetly.

“Billy,” The Duke said roughly after a moment, with almost a growl. “You’ll be safe in Hetton. You have my word for it.”

The arms around Billy tightened their hold and again Billy marvelled the strength and warmth of them. But what made him wonder even more was the way in which the Duke had spoken; the way in which he sounded so sincere.

If said by someone other than the blond Billy might have brushed the surety in the other man’s words as overconfidence. But, the way in which Teddy said them, determined sureness in them so clear; it made him believe that the Duke would indeed be a man of his word. A small, rational voice in the back of his head was however scolding him for his naïve believe and trust, but the warmth that pooled in the pit of his belly, the feeling of having someone in his corner, that rode roughshod over any feelings of misgivings Billy had.

“I… Thank you, Teddy. I…” Billy said, but as he was about to continue, he saw movement in the corridor and quickly pulled away, putting a respectable distance between himself and the blond. He turned towards the window to keep his teary eyes hidden and heard how someone slid the door open.

From the reflection on the window Billy saw how the guard poked his head in. “Next stop is Leeds, sirs.” He informed the two men.

“Thank you.” The Duke said and nodded to him, the guard moving on with a quick nod back.

“I thought we were leagues away from Leeds.” Billy said roughly, feeling slightly surprised, and brushed away the remaining wetness from his eyes.

“You took a quite a long nap.” The blond said and smiled, a trace of seriousness though still lingering in his gaze. “The train stopped at Doncaster and you just slept through people slamming the doors, and even when we crossed over all those clanky points along the route you just kept snoring.”

“Well…” Billy hummed and sniffed. “It’s been a long day.”

“Indeed, it has been.” The Duke said empathetically and placed his comfortingly heavy hand on Billy’s left shoulder.

Billy turned to look out of the window and without consciously thinking it he placed his right hand on the one on his narrow shoulder, squeezing it softly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was on my part a sheer exercise in trying to come up with reasons and situations for Teddy to hold Billy. I’m not sure if I overdid it but I do like my gentle fluff, so you as well had to enjoy/suffer all the feels with me.
> 
> This chapter was originally going to be a bit longer, but I cut it in half after it just grew and grew in length. The second part is now about ten thousand words long and almost finished, but I’m going to keep sitting on it for a while and try to get something else out before I update this story. However, if it starts to look like I’m not going to get anything else finished, then the third chapter to this story will be out reasonably quickly.
> 
> I do apologise for the ridiculously long gaps between updates, but my bachelor’s thesis and other stuff on my plate are really eating up any free time and inspiration I’ve got. So again, sorry.
> 
> Happy new year for everyone and let’s hope the next year is slightly less awful!


End file.
